The Power of Will
by Bohoburns
Summary: Collections of short stories of Mark Hoffman as he slowly transformed into the Jigsaw Apprentice and of his partner, Detective Wilhelmina Maddox as she struggles to cling onto her dear friend before, during, and after the Saw movies. Hoffman x OC. Rated M for language, graphic sex, violence.
1. Chapter 1

Hi! Feel free to let me know if I'm inaccurate with this portrayal of the Saw characters. I grew up enjoying the movies but always wanted it to be more about the characters and less about the traps (like Saw 1 and 2). These will be erratic and not chronological, kind of like one-shots all gathered in the same universe, all involving Hoffman. Feel free to review to provide feedback! Thank you!

Mark Hoffman was always a man of few words. She knew this. And still it bothered the living crap out of her how he just sat there in silence. How he'd simply watch with eyes that could stare at you and crack stone in its intensity. Eyes that rarely seemed to do anything besides glow in hate these days.

"Talk to me, Mark." She held a hand to her chest to keep it still. She was practically shaking like a leaf in a windy day. "Please."

He looked away, sparing her the scrutiny that put her normally confident legs to weakness. Shadows had taken over his face in the grief he was suffering. Lips that could make the nicest smile had permanently soured to a pursed frown. And he stunk of booze. Whiskey and musk. They used to remind her of heated and exciting Friday nights when they were rookies. But not anymore.

She sat in the chair in front of him and leaned forward. Her elbows rested on her knees and she tried to take his hands. They were heavy and calloused. She was surprised to feel how cold they were instead of the hot fire he normally was.

"Why don't you go home and take it easy?"

"It won't make any fucking difference," he hissed at her and she blinked back in hurtful surprise. He never spoke to her that way. The self pity was toxic and eating at her heart like an acid.

"It'll be better than being in here acting like a prick and pissing off the office." She did her best to keep her lashing tongue in check. For him. She spared him the multitude of other colorful words she would normally have dished out. "Just... take a walk. Hell, why not take that vacation you always griped about wanting to take. Hawaii sounds a lot nicer than this rainy hellhole." _I'll even throw down the money to pay for your goddamn plane ticket._

He said nothing, leaning back and refusing to give her any more eye contact. She knew he was shutting her off. And she hated it. She hated him for it.

"Don't push me away, Mark. You're better than this." She winced at the words. She was scolding him instead of comforting him. _Typical of me_. She delved deeper, wanting him to understand. "You mean everything to me."

He looked at her with the frown of being taken off guard. "And she was everything to me. Sorry I can't crack a joke and be the golden boy you want, Will." He got up abruptly, his movement forcing her back. It caught her off guard, his sudden exertion. Painstakingly reminded of how much taller he was than she, the instinctive reach for her gun put her in a paralyzed state of confusion. For that split second she felt that he was dangerous. _Easy, girl. He wouldn't hurt you._

"Angelina wouldn't want you to be like this, Mark." She beseeched with all her might. All she received back was that hateful glare, so foul and disgusted with her that she had to look away. A sting in her throat was the cruel accepting response to her knowing she was losing him.

No more words were said. Instead, he stormed off. He left their shared office with a slammed door that shook the cheap walls. A clash made her quickly turn to the noise, finding the culprit a book that had toppled over from the bookshelf. She redirected her gaze to the framed photograph of Angelina Acomb that trembled from the force. The pretty girl smiled back with oblivious portrait joy-so blissful in that frozen moment in time that Will wished she could teleport to that day the photograph was taken.

She picked up the frame and sank in her chair, sighing at the mess that she was in. "What am I going to do about him, Angie?" She ran her fingers over the glass, where her face grinned up at her. The cool droplets falling down her cheeks pulled her from her thoughts and she wiped her eyes to hide the tears. She couldn't let the boys see her like this. She made a point never to cry at work.

She looked down at the manila folders that had been left open on her desk. Her spread was normally somewhat neat. But for weeks it was askew with coffee cups, random evidence photocopies and photography that stained her nightmares with the graphic bloody macabre that Jigsaw unleashed onto the world.

She sniffed and wiped her nose while running her thumb up and down the little frame. She knew where she'd find her partner til 3 AM. That shithole bar close to his apartment was the new hot spot for Mark Hoffman. _Whiskey and musk._ She should call him, she knew. Or better yet, go out and keep him from the booze. Old westerns and steak used to cheer him up even after the worst cases. And of course... there were other ways.

 _Yeah, how revolutionary you are. Solve a man's problems by opening your legs. Well aren't I a classy bitch?_ She snorted and shook her head into her knees. She knew that last thought had been more wishful thinking on her part. _I have no heart. Me, the heartless succubus, completely overlooking the fact that his only family was killed._

Anger wiped everything else clear away as she fumed. _Seth Baxter. Scum of the earth. Something should be done about him._ The piece of shit was all safe and comfy in state prison. He wouldn't be out for a long time. Well after both she and Hoffman retired... hopefully.

She stood back up and returned Angelina's photograph on its resting place on the shelf before grabbing her coat. It was well past sunset. She opened the door to the main floor of desks, phone calls, rookies, and the local flavor of drunkards handcuffed to benches. The floor was a hell on roller skates on a normal day. Cthulhu on crack on the worst. But even on their slowest days it was never quiet. Will knew it would never be dead-never completely empty every. Even on Christmas. The department was always hot and alive. The city never slept. And neither did their bluejackets.

She put her coat on and made a beeline to the staircase, hoping to avoid any lingering conversation. She had to track Hoffman down and apologize. Hopefully he'd agree to try to get some sleep, too.

"Hey, Maddox, you watch the game last night?"

"No, Bradshaw, sorry, got to go." She cast a quick smile toward one of the guys before escaping through the heavy doors. Her brain buzzing, her heart thumping, and her mind spinning with worry. She had no idea that she would regret not going straight home herself that night.


	2. Chapter 2

Mark was greeted by Angelina's big white smile. "Mark," her voice was full of excitement and she happily wrapped her arms around him in a tight squeeze. "Happy Thanksgiving!"

"Happy Thanksgiving, Angie," he smiled back at her, hoping she didn't flinch when she felt the straps on his shoulders or the bump of his gun holstered to his torso. He knew she hated it when he brought work with him on his visits. He had in one hand a bottle of pumpkin cider he bought for her. The other was a book, gift wrapped in her favorite color, coral. His little sister was a head shorter than him, a petite brunette with kind brown eyes and a resting grin on her face. She wore an ugly festive sweater with a giant comical turkey on the front. She loved the holidays, with the convivial jolly of a reindeer on Christmas eve.

"Well, Mark, I hope you're really hungry. I went all out this year." She happily took his outstretched gifts and laughed when she read the bottle. "Spiced Pumpkin Pie," she read aloud, "I bet Will is going to want some of this!"

"I've brought my appetite," he smiled at her as he made himself comfortable and took off his coat. "Will's not here yet?"

"No, I thought she was riding with you." She raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "She called earlier and said she was on the way. It's snowing pretty hard out there, though. Should we be worried?"

"Just the idea of her on the road terrifies me. I pity pedestrians today." Hoffman stretched and made his way to the kitchen to find himself a nice cold beer in the fridge. Scents of turkey and potatoes made his stomach growl as he looked around the small cozy apartment. Angelina had a family picture from when they were still teenagers on the upper freezer compartment. Their parents, then still alive, had smiled while having their arms around their two kids. It had been one of the last pictures they took together before he had joined the department and Angie had gone off to college.

He grabbed his beer and curiously probed at the large pot steaming away on the stove, lifting the cover off of the container.

"Oh, no, mister!" Angie interjected herself and playfully pushed him aside. "Go to the living room and watch football. You're not going to touch any of the food until Will gets here."

Scoffing, he rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't want to ruin your hard work, sis." His attention went back to the fridge and took in the other pictures. There were coworkers, friends, a few wedding invites and a baby shower here and there. There was even an old photo of him from Ranger School, a lifetime ago. Himself and Will were among the many cherished memories held in place by little gift shop magnets from all over the world... but one important person seemed to be missing.

"What country is Peter currently in?"

Angelina visibly stiffened her back while stirring the pot, her head barely turning in response. "Afghanistan. He has access to landlines for the weekend. He called earlier this morning."

"That's good." Angelina's husband, Peter Acomb, was pretty low on his list of likability. He was a marine she met while in college and whom she fell so in love with that she just had to elope with him. Despite his feelings, he made a point to be supportive. He didn't know Peter that well, but from what Angie told him, he was loyal and a good husband. He hoped he genuinely was. They had only met once, before his deployment. The one talk they had, man to man, left a lasting impression.

 _His handshake was firm. Strong. But Hoffman made a point to grip harder while locking eyes with the man. Short, buzzed blond hair and light green eyes, the man was certainly a pretty boy. "Let's get one thing straight here." His voice was a growl, full of menace and warning. "Angelina is all I have. You take care of her."_

 _"I will." Peter Acomb seemed to understand, his gaze matching the sharp blue ice that studied him. "You have my word." His jaw seemed clenched out of self preservance. There was indeed fear reflected in his tense forearm. The tattoo on his inner arm made Hoffman's blood boil while at the same time wanting to just laugh. The USMC emblem looked fresh on his skin, the patriotic art seemed to have a life of its own and writhed with the movement of Acomb's flesh._

 _Hoffman wanted more than anything to scoff and retort. But he didn't want to make bad blood. He only wanted to make himself clear. "Good."_

The doorbell rang. "Can you get that, Mark?" Angie was combating the heavy boiling water while the beep of a timer went off.

Heading over to get the door, Hoffman opened it, expecting his partner. He flinched in surprise at the sight of the man standing in front of him. "Peter-"

The man put his finger to his lip quickly, his eye twinkling with mischief. A worn duffel bag was in his arm, his large toned chest squeezing past a loud patterned sweater. "I took a cab from the airport. I wanted to surprise her. Is she in the kitchen?"

He felt dumbstruck. Completely speechless. He nodded, wanting to mouth a greeting but instead merely thumbed backwards toward the sound of boiling water spilling out and his sister's cries of mock frustration. He stepped back to the let the man in, watching him head into the next room.

And the scream that echoed back at him made a small smile pull on his lips.

"OH MY GOD! HOW-?" And laughter. And the clang of a dropped wooden spoon. The continued hiss of water on a gas burner. The squeal and the grunt of him picking her up in a tight embrace.

 _You have my word._

Hoffman was mixed between disbelief and satisfaction. And most of all. He was just happy. Happy to hear Angie's laughter.

"Yo, Hoffmaster." The warm husky voice of Will smacked him back to reality. "Why you standing around with the front door wide open. She looked chilled and covered in melting snow with a white pie box clutched in her hands. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Yeah. The ghost of Christmas present."

"Uh, but it's Thanksgiving." Joking, Will raised an eyebrow and let herself in, closing the door behind her. She winked and smirked. "Sorry I'm late. Had to pick someone up from the airport."

"You could have told me," he snapped.

"Like that would have gone well with you. I sometimes wonder if you would pull the plug on the guy if he was on life support and it was up to you."

Smirking, Hoffman took the pie from her. "This better not be pumpkin after what you put me through."

"No, it's apple. I remembered how much you hate everything pumpkin. You non-basic white bitch." Will put her arm around him and laughed. "I'm more surprised that the TV isn't blaring the game right now. Come on, I need the update. I hear the Jets are getting thrashed."


End file.
